His eyes were somewhat
deeply set, and shone extraordinarily blue under straight black brows
that met. The man's whole expression was one of dominant self-assertion.
He bore himself like a king.
"Well, Stumpy," he said, "where's Isabel?"
Scott's companion jumped, and beat a swift retreat. Scott smiled a little
as he made reply.
"I have been up to see her. She will be out presently. Biddy had to give
her a sleeping-draught last night."
"Damn!" said the other in a fierce undertone. "Did she call you first?"
"No."
"Then why the devil didn't she? I shall sack that woman. Isabel hasn't a
chance to get well with a mischievous old hag like that always with her."
"I think Isabel would probably die without her," Stumpy responded in his
quiet voice which presented a vivid contrast to his brother's stormy
utterance. "And Biddy would probably die too--if she consented to go,
which I doubt."
"Oh, damn Biddy! The sooner she dies the better. She's nothing but a
perpetual nuisance. What is Isabel like this morning?"
Scott hesitated, and his brother frowned.
"That's enough. What else could any one expect? Look here, Scott! This
thing has got to end. I shall take that sleeping-stuff away."
"If you can get hold of it," put in Scott drily.
"You must get hold of it. You have ample opportunity. It's all very well
to preach patience, but she has been taking slow poison for seven years.
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